Ice
by Tovare
Summary: Ludwig is ice.


**Title : Ice**

**Genre : Angst**

**Pairings : None**

**Summary : Ludwig is ice.**

A/N : Random? I was drinking a glass of ice cold water...

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><p>Ludwig wakes up at five am sharp everyday. He gets up and goes to take a shower. Everything is timed and specific, everything is always orderly. It was always orderly with him. Because if it wasn't orderly, if it wasn't perfect, it was wrong. Ludwig dresses and smoothes down his suit as he glances in the mirror to give a thirty-second inspection of himself. His eyes wander to his face.<p>

Ludwig hates himself. He hates himself completely. His simple inspection turns into a death glare that he wished _would_ kill him. His hands tremble at his sides. He's not perfect. He's tainted with the blood of thousands. Of his own beloved people and of other innocents. He, himself, was a horrible, huge reminder of the past, his past. He realizes he hates his own reflection.

The German man realizes he been staring at himself for more than thirty seconds, and he hasn't even really inspected anything.

He hates himself more now that he's ruined his precious schedule. He takes ten seconds to make sure his suit is completely nice and unwrinkled before quickly moving on with his schedule. He goes to the World Meeting, he is there first, like always. Now that Feliciano has stopped visiting, he has too much time on his hand. He quickly pushes the chairs in and puts out the agenda for the day for all of the other Nations. Like always, everything has to be perfect and orderly.

Then he hears America come in. America was the host of today's meeting. Ludwig flinches, America. Alfred was loud and messy. Not to mention rude, rarely ever allowing the German man to forget the past, **ever**.

"Hey!" Alfred shouts loudly. Ludwig doesn't turn to look at Alfred. "HEY NAZI! HOW ARE YA?"

The word cuts him like a knife. Ludwig looks up at the other blond. Alfred smiles, he's just a ruthless teenager. No manners, and it looks like he's not planning to get any anytime soon. Ludwig sets down the rest of his paperwork on his assigned seat. He nods at the host just to be polite before he leaves the room, ignoring Alfred's protests and questions. He takes his phone out. His hands tremble as they dial his brother's number.

His brother could handle the meeting, but right now, Germany couldn't.

Ludwig was usually ice.

He was always frozen, and he figured he was probably as frozen as Russia by now. It wasn't until someone said that word, that simple word. It was only than that he realized his emotions were _usually_ frozen. He'd never be able to fully throw them away…

**Nazi**, that was the word he couldn't stand.

He hates that word more than he hates himself.

And it wasn't until he heard that word that his calm, icily perfect mask melted away. Under the mask was just Ludwig, just _him_. His fears, his horror…

His weakness.

He hated himself, what more was there to do? But to have everyone else… everyone else play with that word so lightly though it made him ache so much…? He was trying to forget, to forgive himself for everything that he did, but it was _hard_. It was harder than any torture survival training he had ever done. More difficult than anything he'd ever done before. Maybe it was because he knew he didn't deserve to be forgiven, maybe it was just that…

He listened to his brother whine. Ludwig blinked a few times, trying to keep his mask on. He couldn't let it melt away here of all places.

"_Bruder_, _bitte_. (brother please)" His voice is ice too. His voice is simple and calm; it has no emotion. It is simply a cold plead. His brother agrees with a long whine and a list of things that would have to be done in order for him to actually go along with this. "Of course," Gilbert cheers before he says he'll be there in a few minutes. Ludwig gives him a weak list of rules. He leaves the hall quietly, not yelling at the others at all as they past him.

He doesn't greet Ivan.

He doesn't scold Vash for bringing a gun.

He doesn't yell at Antonio to stop bringing turtles to the meetings.

He simply walks past them, leaving without another word.

He gets home just in time to waves goodbye to his brother. Gilbert was wearing a nice suit though his tie was a little messy and his hair wasn't fixed. Ludwig silently thanks Gilbert in his head before he stalks into the living room. He blinks as the first thing that comes into view is a mirror. He sees ice. Not even a smile, his eyes stay their ugly pale blue. So pale they could have been a shade of ice. He hates ice almost as much as he hates himself and the word Nazi. He blinks as the ice melts before his eyes to show his weakness.

He cannot afford to lose control so soon. His brother was a dolt. He may have forgotten something and turned around to get it. He couldn't afford to lose control now.

It was too late though.

Ludwig started to cry, salty tears dripping down his face. He gritted his teeth as more tears streamed down his face, his damned, mask-less face. Ludwig slowly sinks to his bottom. He wraps his arms around his knees and lets that single word rip him apart.

And here he thought he was stronger than this. Here he thought like a fool that he could handle that word now. But no, he was wrong, he couldn't handle that word for the life of him. It still tore him apart. It ripped him in pieces and killed him.

He let his horrible sobs echo through the silent, perfect room.

And Ludwig was ice, he was the only thing that wasn't perfect and calm and still in the room.

He didn't belong here anymore. A room so white, so perfect, while he himself was stained and drenched in red blood.

He was ice, and he would never belong again.

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><p>Please review~?<p> 


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